Out Of The Cage
by Osiris-Ra
Summary: 5 years later, the Lostees are home. They begin the hard journey returning to life in civilization, but the Prelude asks an important question, which may determine how long they can survive now that they're back...


**Author's Note: **This fic started with just the Prelude, then brainstorming paid off and the plot bunny had babies. I was going to make it 2 years, then decided to jump 5 years into the future to give me some extra writing room. If you review, do feel free topoint outany plot or continuityholes.More to come. Just a warning, I'm biased, so there'll probably be a lot of Ana in here. I dunno, I write her best - and Sawyer. No, I'm not a Sana shipper. Friendshipper, yes. :D But don't worry, the whole gang'll be in this.

* * *

**Out Of The Cage**

**By Osiris-Ra

* * *

**

_**Prelude:**_

"_Consider the development of a number of subjects over a period of weeks. A number of whom exhibit symptoms of criminal tendency, paranoia or addiction to dangerous substance. The opinion of the theory is if you gather together this group of individuals, will the symptoms tire themselves out as their confinement in a place, not so close to a prison, yet offering no physical or mental freedom, begins to bear into their mental psyche, exhausting the aggressive behavior and replacing it with a sense of brotherhood and mental solidarity. The ingredients of the survival instinct. Or will this confinement simply add to the aggressive nature of the subject, leading him to exercise even more dangerous behavior towards those whom they have been chosen to form a bond with, and eventually, create chaos and dissention among all the subjects, good or bad? The question remains, what of those who do not exhibit abnormal mental function? Will they be a source of sanity and relief for the other subjects? Will they be the ones to turn an otherwise aggressive person into a solid, stable, normally functioning, agreeable human being? Or will they suffer at the hands of insanity? Truly, there is no worse outcome for this experiment than to discover that radically changing the environment of such disturbed persons produces no effect to changing their mentality."_

_-------------_

The jungle has a peculiar sort of smell. A sharp, primordial stink. It's all around you, you can't get away. The smell is that of fear. Hate. Anger. Evil. Everything that plunges terror into a weak, naïve heart. That's why the jungle is dark. Why the greens, blues and blacks blend perfectly into one another. So you can't see what's hiding and lurking behind the trees and bushes. The jungle wasn't made for man. It was made for animals and beasts. And men who emulate them. What does that say of the rest of us who are condemned to this hellish pit? Are we no longer human? Are we now the beast and animal, which we are so afraid of?

-----------

* * *

The camera lights flashed like quick, contained bursts of lightning. Sawyer shielded his eyes, frowning his annoyance at one particularly pushy paparazzo. One by one, the castaways made their way off the boat ramp, tightly hugging their new dark blue and white windbreakers around themselves. To the onlookers, they were almost a majestic sight, no matter how grunged up and dirty. The sheer fact that for5 years, these men and woman had survived life on an island no one even knew had existed and found the means to get the attention of the living world again was enough to propel them to god-hood. For the public, surviving without the comforts of technology was a god-like feat to accomplish.

However, it was different for the survivors. Glancing with tired, cynical eyes at the people pushing against the yellow tape to get a better look, the onlookers represented a life they had lived so long without. There was a different smell about them. A Payless Shoes store sort of scent that was odd and unfamiliar now. A pang of fear shot through some of them. How would their families take them back? It had been so long. So many things had changed. Surely they had been given up for dead. To their families...their world...they _were_ dead.

The Admiral of the ship which had discovered them made his speech. He was a tall, elegant sort of man. A casual, modern day sailor-type, who warmly absorbed the cheer and camera lights with an arrogant dignity.

"...We're just glad that we were able to recover these people, and get them back safely. The journey was hard, there's no doubting that one. We can't judge them, or what they've been through, 'cause we wouldn't know. Right now, what they need is peace and quiet, and their families. I'm asking that the press –"

He cast a glance through eagle like eyes towards the group of hungry cameramen desperate for a shot of the castaways –

"- keep their distance. These guys are citizens, like you or me. And they've been through a heckof a time. They need their space."

Locke looked on at the crowd, hoping to see some familiar faces. He knew he wouldn't, but it was helpful to hope. He knew he might soon.

Michael gritted his teeth. His return was bittersweet. Vincent stood beside him, looking up with a gentle, loyal glint in his black eyes. Michael smiled at the dog and warmly rubbed his head. It was such a strange feeling, knowing Walt wasn't there. It was almost as if he was still alive, with them, watching the crowd with that usual youthful sparkle he had. Only he wasn't. Michael kept his face exanimate for the prying cameras. Vincent voiced a hostile chuff towards the press booth.

"...Mr. John Locke will now deliver a short statement..."

Locke stepped up to the mic. He wasn't going to drag this out. His feet hurt, he was cold, and he hated cameras. He smoothed a hand over his head in a tired manner.

"I can't really speak for the rest of the survivors. But I can speak for myself. Those5 years...were the hardest of my life. But I can say, without a doubt, I came back from it with something. A little piece of knowledge that I'd like to share with you. It's something a friend of mine, who thankfully, is here with us today, told me. 'Never mistake Coincidence for Fate.' "

Locke stopped for a moment, as if pondering the meaning of his words. The cameras snapped off shots of his moment sporadically.

Locke's eyes returned to the onlookers. He was smiling very slightly. Finally he said.

"It's very good to be back."

He stepped off the podium and headed to the nearby van. The rest of the castaways followed in an unorganized fashion. Another speaker who always seemed to be in something of a hurry came up to the microphone, apologized for the fact they had to leave soon, made some other brief comments, then left quickly, leaving the press and onlookers in a concerned hubbub.

* * *

The group had traveled in three separate vans. Ana-Lucia, Jack, Bernard and Rose went in one, Sawyer, Kate, Eko, Locke, Michael and Vincent in another, and Charlie, Sayid, Claire, Jin and Sun in another. Each man and woman traveled quietly. Glancing looks out the window or at each other.

Sawyer broke the silence in his van.

"So who's going to L.A Greyhound?"

Kate glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Micheal managed to crack a grin. Eko just stared out the window.

Silence fell again.

The low-key white vans continued down the freeway.

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
